


Dugout Days

by Army C (arh581958)



Series: #GallavichWeek [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, College Student!Ian, Dad!Ian, Dad!Mickey, Day 6 - Gallavich as Parents, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, EMT!Ian, Family Fluff, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Future, Future Fic, GW2016, Jealous!Mickey, Little League Baseball, M/M, Mechanic!Mickey, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, coach!Ian, no mentions of bipolar Ian, so fluffy you could die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Army%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't where Mickey expected himself to be--boiling away in the stands, bright and early, on a hot Saturday morning--watching his son and lover doing warm-up exercises on the diamond pitch. Yep, despite all the odds, Yevgeny Milkovich is part of  the Little League team, and Ian's coaching.</p><p>(Or: Mickey, Ian, and Yevgeny's day in the baseball field)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dugout Days

**Author's Note:**

> Part 6 to my GallavichWeek2016 Series. Day 6 - Gallavich as Parents.
> 
> AU-ish but not really(?). Svetlana, for reasons I don't want to explain, is not in the picture for this story, be it because she doesn't like baseball or has separate custody days compared to Mickey and frankly because I don't care. Everything in canon is here. Mickey got a job after prison at a garage and Ian's an EMT while working for a degree. Yevgeny is 5. That's about a year or two after Season 6. I'm hoping, praying, begging, that the producers bring Noel back for Season 7.
> 
> **Not Beta Read. Open for Volunteers.**

Mickey’s never really been a big fan of baseball since the mouldy old coach kicked him off his Little League team for pissing on first base. After that, he never really looked back at the sport as something he could ever enjoy. He’ll watch it on TV or some shit, sure, but not enough to go out to the actual pitch and watch a live game. It’s just his life that he does just that, bright and early, on a hot Saturday morning.

“Dad, we’re over here!” comes the long draw-out call from the dugouts. A team of fifteen or so players are buzzing about like a small colony of ants, girls and guys alike between the ages four to six. Yevgeny blends in nearly perfectly with the rest of his teammates, if not for the gentle giant hovering over him.

Ian’s the parent-coach of Yev’s team. Unlike the little boy, he’s wearing a dark blue jersey and striped light grey pants, a variation of kid’s red-and-blue uniforms. It makes his bright red hair even brighter, and he sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the tiny rascals. He spots Mickey and sends a big toothy smile to the older man’s way.

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey fights down the blush and waves back a little instead. Even the tiny action causes both Yev’s and Ian’s faces to split into two big identical grins. If it isn’t for the clear difference in their appearance, anyone can easily mistake them for a biological father-son pair, or brother-brother pair given the age difference.

He also never thought that he’d ever come back to this place with a purpose other than sex. Lucky for him that he gets to stay _on_ the bleacher right now instead of the dugouts where Ian and he shared a lot, _a fucking lot_ , of not safe for children memories. Just the thought of it alone makes him twitch inside his pants but he pushes all those thoughts aside.

They haven’t left the Southside but they’re better.

Mickey works in a small garage near the edge of the city that’s right beside the old scrapyard. He may come home with near-permanent black stains on his fingers and under his nails but at least he’s earning an honest living for the first time in his life. Pays’ decent and he’ll take grease over blood any day. The hours let him pick-up a shift or two in the nearby dive bar if money ever gets tight.

He doesn’t want to go back to prison, and he’s learned that the hard way.

Ian, on the other hand, is trying to finish his college education by picking up units at Malcom X between his EMT shifts. He comes home bone tired on nights that he needs to do both work and classes, and ends up falling asleep on the nearest flat surface. Mickey’s carried his ginger-ass to bed a couple of times a week. It’s a miracle how he manages to scrounge up enough energy to take Yev to Little League practice.

The game’s pretty boring but the crowds go wild nonetheless, cheering for their respective teams (and mostly their children). Mickey expected as much from a bunch of tykes, who are still unable to fully control all of their motor functions. It’s relaxing and domestic in a way even if he’s alone on the stands, looking like a grumpy old Mechanic in old jeans and a ripped t-shirt. He wears Ian’s baseball cap so that counts as something.

Yevgeny next to bat, and Ian coaches him from the sidelines, patiently reminding him of the proper form, the proper timing, and the strike zone where he’s allowed to hit the ball. He takes the bat and shows Yev how to do it a couple of times before the boy tries it on his own.

Nearly all the females in the crowd see him and coo.

“Oh my god, look at the assistant coach! Isn’t he really like _dreamy_?” A girl from the row in front of Mickey squeals to her friend while pointing to Yev’s team. She’s young, maybe fourteen-ish or something because he’s really bad with guessing things like age and shit, with blond curly _pigtails_ wearing the opposing team’s green color.

Mickey doesn’t know why the fuck she’s even here. It’s obvious that she’s a sister for one of the other team’s players but don’t fourteen year-olds have other stuff to do than watch their baby brother’s Little League baseball game or some shit? He sure did when he was thirteen. And, Who the fuck uses words like ‘dreamy’ nowadays, huh?

“Eww, gross, Lani, he’s like, what, thirty? He’s almost as old as your dad!” The girl beside Lani, clearly the same age or at least close in age, fakes a gag. Her overall look reminds him a little bit like Mandy at thirteen or fourteen with bright purple highlights on her black hair.

“Tish, what the fuck? I’m talking about the redhead not the Latino dude! I mean, come on, _look at him_ , he’s sure as hell don’t look like a dad, right? Like, none of the boys have red hair! He’s got to be like a volunteer or something. And who doesn’t want a guy who’s like good with kids? It’s like on the checklist for good husband material.”

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Mickey thinks, glancing over at Ian, who’s giving Yev the thumbs up as he waits in the first base’s coaching box. Yup, that’s definitely husband material, not that Mickey has any idea of _what_ a husband should really be. He’s got shit experience in it. But, if anything, Ian would make any lucky guy happy, and, hell, _he’s_ the lucky guy even if they haven’t tied the knot yet.

Yevgeny hits a pop-up, and he looks scared out of his mind when all of his teammates in the dugout start shouting. It’s Little League, which means that the catcher and the pitcher aren’t all too aware of what to actually _do_ when a pop-up happens.

Ian’s there for him. “Run, Yev, Run!” He shouts at the top of his lungs, calm and confident and proud. “Run to me, come on, Yev, you can do it, just like we practiced, yeah?”

Yev goes for it, running on his short stubbly legs which he inherited from his father, but still zooming through the field as the catcher collects the ball and throws it to the first baseman. It’s an overshoot and the right fielder isn’t prepared to cover.

Mickey’s standing up on his chair. “Go, go, go! Go to second! Go to second!”

At the box, Ian’s swinging his arm to gesture the same.

Yev steps on first base, looks at Ian, then barrels for second.  

Ian winks at the mini-Mickey with a grin. “You heard your dad. Go on, baby, you can do it!”

Everyone in the audience roars when Yevgeny _slides_ to second base mere _seconds_ before the second baseman catches the ball. The referee blows the whistle long, signaling that he made it safely.

“That’s my solnyshko!” Mickey throws his fist in the air, grinning ear to ear with no fucks whatsoever about the people who gave him weird looks. Yev clearly sees him and gives him a thumbs-up. He returns in two-fold, one for each of his boys on the field, not that anybody else needed to know that.

Another hour later, the game ends with Yev’s team winning by two runs. Ian leads the team in the customary one-round around the pitch parade to showcase the whole team to their parents and peers in their ill-fitting little uniforms and too-big baseball caps. They’re all dirty and sweaty and messy now, even the coaches.

Ian, of course, looks gorgeous in anything.

“Next year, I’m asking mom to put Jaime in this district’s team instead of ours. I’ll even volunteer to take Jaime every Saturday if it means I get to have _that_ ,” she says, not clearly pointing at Ian, got Yevgeny on his shoulders while they walk to the dugout, “candy before my shift at the spa. Yum. Yum.”

Mickey finds it a little bit disgusting how Ian can easily be objectified by a bunch of prepubescent teenagers. Anger, jealousy, and resentment boils up in his veins. He’s heard enough.

“Yo, Gallagher!” He hollers, stopping his boys from their destination. “C’mere a bit, won’t ya?” In his periphery, he glimpses the two stuck-up bitches eyeing him beneath their fake plastic lashes. It only serves him to stride more confidently to the edge of the stands, right up to the metal mesh wiring.

“Daddy!” Yev enthusiastically greets with a shit-eating grin that he could have only gotten from Ian. “Didja see? Didja see? I did good, right? I did good? I hit the ball and got two bases! Two!” He proudly puts up two fingers in a peace sign. “Two!”

His shirt’s a muddy mess with dirt and grass stains and the side of his pants from sliding all over the place is much worse, flaking Ian’s shoulders with mud. He’s got a buzzing energy that needs to be spent before they put him down for a nap, after a shower perhaps. 

Mickey needs to tilt his head since Ian’s height makes Yev tower over him by more than two heads. He doesn’t mind it much because he gets to see both their faces when he looks at them.

“Yeah, I did,” he smiles at his son, and Yev grins back, “Why don’t we go out an’ celebrate, yeah? Get some of that pecan pie you really like from the diner near Ian’s college?”

Yev’s smile after that lights up his entire face. “Movie too? No watch last time. I sleep. I wanna watch movie.”

Ian and Mickey chuckle at the same time. Last time the league won a game, they both promised Yev that he could pick their movie for the night but the boy fell asleep on the way home. It’ll end up the same tonight but they promise him nonetheless.

“Ayt, ayt, we can do a movie.” Mickey nods. “Ayy, why don’t you go hug it out or something with your teammate then pack your bag. Ian and I’ll wait for you here.” Ian gives him a questioning look but Mickey merely shakes his head, so he folds down onto his knees to let Yev off. Even phrased as a suggestion, the command in his words are clear. Yev obeys without a fuss, too excited at the promise of pie and a movie.

Ian stands up to his full height. “What was that about, Mick?”

“It’s nothing,” Mickey lies but his eyes betray him, unconsciously glancing back at the stands.

Ian follows them and sees two girls whispering amongst themselves. “What they say, Mick? Did they say anything bad to you?” Just like that, his genial aura disappears and is replaced by the cold façade of a born-and-raised Southie. The visibly shift never fails to give Mickey shivers up his spine, how he gets to know and have the two-sides of Ian.

“It’s nothing,” he says, biting his lips and looking away, “Let’s just go, ayt? I don’t need Yev getting kicked outta the league for some stupid shit that his father did, ayt? It’s nothing, Firecrotch, just some words about you and…” he waves vaguely over Ian’s body, and the redhead smirks, “Oiy, don’t get cocky, asshole, you already know you’re hot.”

Mickey realizes too late that he’s slipped. “Shit.”

“I’m hot, am I?” Ian lowers his voice by an octave, the smooth seductiveness that always gets Mickey’s blood pumping. “You sayin’ I’m a hot piece of ass, Milkovich?”

Mickey takes a half-step away. “Eyy, no cursin’ on the pitch, Gallaghers, ain’t against some regulation or shit?”

Ian isn’t letting the issue rest. “ _Mickey_ ”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’m your asshole,” Ian shoots back without missing a beat, “C’mon, kiss me, stake your claim, show those bitches that I’m already taken, ey? Want that Mickey? Show everybody who exactly I belong to? Whose bed I go to every night? Who shares the bed with me? I know you want it you, possessive son of a bitch, so why don’t you just go ahead and do it?”

“Fuck you,” Mickey hisses. They move forward at the same time, getting as close as they possible can with the metal fence still in their way. Mickey fists Ian’s dark blue jersey through the diamond-shaped holes, pulling on the fabric until about an inch of Ian’s pale freckled stomach is exposed.

Their mouths meet though one of the gaps. They can hardly, if at all, kiss like this, but Mickey growls low when he feels Ian’s lips on his. It brings him back, way back, years back, to the time when they were _in_ the dugout doing filthy, filthy, things to each other or that one time that they nearly tore each other clothes right in the middle of the field.

God, it’s like they’re young and stupid again to be doing this so openly.

At the moment, neither of them cares.

Ian isn’t unaffected. He’s got hands clinging to the wire in a white-knuckled grip because he _can’t touch Mickey_ like this in the way that he’s used to.

“Mickey, Mickey, come on, Mickey,” he urges on as they part, both glassy-eyes and high from the very public display of intimacy, because it’s definitely more than just plain affection.

Mickey bites on Ian’s lip and pulls it before letting go. “We gotta get Yev, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ian nods weakly, “Yeah, I’ll just—I’ll go get him.” He wobbles as he walks away, looking more rumpled after a two-minute kiss than he did the entire two-hour game.

Mickey feels smug when he turns back around to face the two teenagers. They’re staring at him like he’s grown two heads, like he’s out of his mind, and like he’s just ruined at least one girl’s dreams of banging a certain hot redheaded assistant coach. Yeah, he’s got a lot to be smug about. He makes a show of running a hand over his kiss-bitten lip and he licks it.

“He kisses good too,” He mentions off hand as he strides past them.

Ian’s waiting by the dugout doors. Automatically, he places a chaste kiss on Mickey’s lips. “How’d it go? Show who owns my ass, Mick?”

“Naah.” Mickey waves it off. He taps on the metal frame twice, eyes moving through the familiar scene behind Ian and sees Yev still listening to the head coach’s customary post-game pep-talk. “I ain’t no jealous little queen. Jus’ rememberin’ some good ol’ days back there. You ever think about that?” He leans in, pulling Ian down so he can whisper hotly into Ian’s ear. “Ever think about me when you’re here, _Firecrotch_?”

Ian’s whole body shudders. His cheeks tint pink. “Yeah… sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Mickey raises an eyebrow and gives him a suggestive look. “You lookin’ to refresh some of those memories?”

“Oh yeah?” Ian matches the glint in Mickey’s eyes. “You see any piece of Southside trash lying around here? Maybe I can fuck him on third base next time instead of just the dug outs. Get him to cum all over the ground and we’ll hide it underneath the mat. Watcha say, Mick? Wanna make the games a little more interesting?”

Mickey bites his lip against but shakes his head. “Naah, we got Yev now, Ian, can’t have him getting’ banned for some stupid shit we did. ‘Sides, we’ve got a bed in the apartment and my ass’ been papered with lube for the last two years. Let’s save that game for a special occasion, ayt?”

Ian looks a bit stunned but nods. “Damn, fuck, my Mickey’s all grown up and making adult decisions with his top-head now.”

Mickey play-punches him on the arm. “Oiy, at least one of us needs to be an adult with your childish ass actin’ like a man-child all the time.”

“But you love me,” Ian teases.

Mickey only smiles, “Yeah, I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Baseball because I can't get the picture of toddler!Yevgeny playing baseball on the exact same baseball pitch where Ian and Mickey used to find solstice in. It's kind of poetic in that way, don't you think? Imagine Ian in his baseball gear and Mickey wanting nothing more than to tear it off after they've gone home, while Yev's sleeping in their bedroom. Yes, I leave you with that mental image, my friends. 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask)~
> 
> As always, **kudos/comments/bookmarks** are all appreciated by this author. I take comments as extra-kudos and I _do_ read the bookmark tags (some are really fun).
> 
> PS. May or may not be part of a domestic!Gallavich series entitled "Raising Yevgeny". *winkwink*
> 
> PPS. Mickey calls Yevgeny "sunshine", which according to online forums is a Russian-based endearment for children. In a way, I really think it fits, and even if Yev's conception wasn't under the best circumstance, it changed Mickey to be a better man. Plus, come on, guys, he's a half-Gallagher raised by Ian! :D


End file.
